


Monkey Love

by stjarna



Series: Engineering vs Biochem - 2017 (Team Engineering) [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Academy Era Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Mention of Physical Abuse, Mention of abuse, Spacetime Challenge, headcanons, mention of verbal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Why does Fitz love monkeys? When did Fitzsimmons truly become friends?A couple of my Fitz and Fitzsimmons' headcanons fleshed out (see notes at the end for details)Written for the Spacetime Challenge organized by The Fitzsimmons Network on Tumblr.Trigger warnings: Mention of physical and verbal abuse.





	Monkey Love

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to @theclaravoyant for being my beta!
> 
> Banner by me

It had been about three weeks now since they’d been paired together in chem lab, and Jemma’s initial dismay over being forced to work with Leopold Fitz, her arch nemesis, had quickly evaporated in Week 1 when she’d realized that their combined brain powers meant that nobody else in the class could hold a candle to them. Since then, they’d gotten into the habit of not only working on their chemistry assignments together, but also frequently meeting for study sessions and to brainstorm bioengineering projects that would have had the other students blush with humility or turn raging red with jealousy had they been aware of them.

Spending time with Fitz—as he preferred being called for reasons he had yet to disclose to her—had become Jemma’s favorite time of the day. Nobody seemed quite as interesting or challenged her quite as thrillingly as the young Scottish prodigy. The way they kept bouncing ideas off each other, finishing each other’s sentences, bickering in the must furious way when they disagreed, and yet always resolving things peacefully and with a fruitful solution… it was like nothing Jemma had ever experienced and in the few weeks they’d become acquainted with each other, she had realized that she couldn’t imagine a better lab partner and friend than Fitz.

* * *

Jemma knocks on Fitz’s dorm room door and waits before squinting her eyes and briefly rattling on the handle only to confirm that the door is locked. She draws in an exasperated breath and glances at her watch.

3 p.m. sharp. She’d told him she’d pick him up 3 p.m. sharp so they could go to the lab. His robotics class had ended thirty minutes ago and the lecture hall was a mere seven minutes away—if he had walked extremely slowly. There was absolutely no reason for him to be—

Jemma’s head shoots around when she hears running footsteps, rubber soles screeching on the linoleum floor. He’s scrambling down the hallway towards her, his face bright red and glistening with sweat. He stumbles to a halt, leaning forward and resting one hand on his knee, while the other holds on tight to the shoulder strap of his backpack. His chest is heaving with short, ragged breaths, and he blinks rapidly as if he were seeing stars in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he exhales, lifting his head slightly, staring at her with apologetic, blue puppy eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Jemma furrows her brows, crossing her arms in front of her chest, but decides to remain silent, giving him a chance to explain himself.

He straightens up, still breathing heavily. “I went to Professor Vaughn’s office hours after my robotics class. I had one, stupid little question about his last History of S.H.I.E.L.D. lecture and—”

Jemma relaxes instantaneously at Vaughn’s mention, raising her hands in front of her chest in a soothing gesture. “Say no more.”

Fitz exhales a sigh of relief and takes a step towards the door to his room, one hand rummaging through his pocket to search for his keys. “Sometimes I seriously wonder how that man got his job.”

Jemma scoffs, following Fitz into the room once he’s opened the door. “Well, I presume they’d rather have a man like him tucked away in the safety of the Academy rather than out in the field somewhere. I mean, can you imagine Professor Vaughn in a life-or-death situation?”

“No.” Fitz stops in his tracks, looking questioningly at Jemma. “But I also can’t imagine myself in one, so… so that I won’t hold against him.”

Jemma chuckles quietly. “Fair enough.”

Fitz gestures over his shoulder. “I just need a minute to pack my stuff for the lab.”

“Oh, of course. Take your time.” Jemma smiles, her initial frustration over starting their lab session with a slight delay blown away. She walks over to Fitz’s bookshelf, glancing back at where he’s frantically emptying his backpack and restocking it with different books, notebooks, and various tools, before her eyes begin wandering over his book collection. Her head tilts slightly to the side to allow her to read the spines more easily. She squints when she reaches the third row of books.

“May I ask a question?”

Jemma turns her head, and is greeted by Fitz’s deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“Huh?” he mumbles quietly, a small tool kit in one hand and his open backpack in the other.

“May I ask a question?” Jemma repeats, before squinting at a sudden remembrance. “And, well, I’ve been told that my social skills occasionally lack a certain finesse, so I want to emphasise that this is truly only meant as an inquisitive question and not in any way, shape or form as a judgment.”

Fitz wrinkles his forehead, while one side of his mouth pulls up in confusion. “Umm. O-kay.”

“You’re an engineer,” Jemma remarks matter-of-factly before gesturing with her index finger over her shoulder towards the bookshelf. “And yet, you have eleven books on non-human primates in your bookshelf.”

“Oh. Umm. Well. I—” He stares at her wide-eyed, before shrugging slightly. “I like monkeys… and apes… and hominids. All forms of primates, really. Well, not always sure about the human kind, but—They’re fascinating. The non-human kind, that is. Started learning everything I could find about them when I was seven.”

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “Oh. Well, they truly are a fascinating species. I’ve always been fascinated by spiders myself. I’m guessing your parents had less of an issue with your hobby than mine had with mine.”

“My mum’s actually the reason why I started.” His voice is quiet and shy, but there’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips, infectious enough that Jemma can’t help but smile widely.

“Oh. That’s lovely. For me, it was a biology teacher. Mr. Hornick. Poor man was teased for his last name by those insufferable, immature children in my class. Ugh.”

She rolls her eyes in disgust, shaking her head slightly to rid herself of the memory and move on. “Anyway, he collected insects. Very knowledgeable man. Very kind. Always brought me some of his collectibles to study.”

She squints slightly, her eyes briefly wandering to the floor, her forehead furrowing in thought. “Horribly bad breath though.”

She hears a weak snicker and looks up, noticing Fitz grinning back at her.

Jemma lets out a quiet laugh. “I’m terribly sorry. I digress.” She gestures towards the door. “Shall we go?”

“Yes.” Fitz nods, taking half a step forward before pausing, when his phone vibrates.

He pulls his mobile from his pocket and checks the screen before looking apologetically at Jemma. “Umm. It’s… it’s my mum. Do you mind?”

Jemma shakes her head vigorously. “Oh, not at all! Please, go right ahead.”

He answers the call, turning his back on Jemma, his free hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Hey mum. Is everything alright?... Oh. No. Yeah. I’m fine. Things are good. How are you?... Oh, that’s good.”

Fitz turns his head slightly and Jemma can’t help but smile when she notices how soft and relaxed his facial features are as he talks to his mother.

“Not much. Same old. I… I got a perfect score on my thermodynamics test.”

Jemma’s eyes widen in pleasant surprise, before she squints, realizing that she probably shouldn’t be listening.

“Yeah. No. It’s… it’s nothing. Wasn’t very hard… Thanks, mum. Hey, umm, I… I’m with a friend right now.”

Another smile flashes across Jemma’s face.

 _Friend._ It has a nice ring to it.

“We… we’re working on a project together, and… nonono, I’m glad you called, it’s just, we were about to head to the lab and, well, I know it’s already late for you, so, I won’t call back later, but… but tomorrow, okay? Promise!... Yeah. Of course. Love you, mum… Bye.”

He hangs up, turning to face Jemma and grinning apologetically. “She wanted to check in.”

Jemma nods in understanding. “Yes. My parents have impeccable timing as well with their phone calls. But it’s always nice to hear them,” she adds, her tone bit more somber. “It’s hard sometimes, being so far away from home.”

A weak one-sided smile appears on Fitz’s face and he bobs his head in agreement. “Yeah. I know. I miss her a lot.”

“Same.” Jemma exhales a slow breath full of sudden melancholy, before finding her bearings. She straightens up and clears her throat, gesturing towards the hallway. “Well, shall we?”

* * *

* * *

They’d been working on their chem lab assignment for hours. One by one, the other students had left for the day. Weaver had tried to kick them out, but Simmons had been unrelenting in explaining how they needed to continue. Eventually, Weaver had given up arguing with the young English cadet and had written them a permission slip to use the laboratory after hours. Simmons had watched Weaver leave, her head held high and proud before turning around to grin triumphantly at Fitz.

So, they had kept going, bouncing ideas off each other, adjusting the formulas, bickering with each other when one assumed the other had made a mistake. Whenever Simmons had looked away, Fitz couldn’t help but smile. He still sometimes couldn’t believe his goddamn luck that they’d been paired together and he’d finally managed to say something clever enough to impress her three weeks ago. He’d always assumed they’d work well together, considering that they were clearly the two smartest people on campus, but his bloody shyness and social awkwardness had made it so difficult to approach her.

They’d been so in tune and entranced with their project that it wasn’t until Fitz’s stomach had grumbled loudly that they’d realized how late it had gotten. The choice was to call it a night or get food and keep going, and neither of them was ready to call it a night.

* * *

“Oh, it smells delicious,” Simmons exclaims as she removes the plastic lid from one of the take-out containers. She brings the food closer to her nose and inhales slowly, letting out a content hum, before placing the container on the empty lab bench they’d chosen to use as a makeshift dinner table and grabbing the next one from the delivery bag.

“I should hope so,” Fitz remarks grumpily, his stomach discontented after having to wait almost forty minutes for the food to arrive. “The place’s not the cheapest, but got by far the best reviews.”

“Oh, I love Indian food.” Simmons grabs one of the water bottles in the bag and hands it to Fitz, before taking the second one for herself. “And what a brilliant idea to order Indian in honor of Prafulla Chandra Rây.”

“Who got his Doctor of Science from the University of Edinburgh, Scotland, thank you very much!” Fitz remarks pointedly. He unscrews the lid of his water bottle and takes a sip.

Simmons sits down and spoons some food onto her plate. “Did you know that when he turned sixty he donated his entire salary to the Calcutta University to be used for the furtherance of chemical research and the development of the Department of Chemistry?”

Fitz scoffs, grabbing his own plate and reaching for the Tikka Masala. “What kind of scientist would I be if I didn’t know that?”

Simmons lets out a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”

They eat in silence for a while, and Fitz notices an uneasy feeling creeping up his stomach; the same feeling he has every time a social situation is turning south. He pokes the remainder of his food with his fork, his eyes wandering over a few scattered pieces of chicken, his mind trying fruitlessly to come up with an acceptable topic to talk about. The last thing he wants is to ruin the friendship he thought he’d established with Simmons by being unable to hold a conversation over dinner.

Fitz lifts his head, opening his mouth halfway as if somehow that would help him come up with the right thing to say, but Simmons seems to beat him to it.

She looks up, smiling shyly. “I… I didn’t mean to eavesdrop earlier when you were on the phone but—”

Fitz presses his lips into a thin line, forcing the corners up into an understanding grimace “Hard not to in a dorm room the size of a bathroom stall?”

Simmons chuckles weakly. “Yes, well, still I’m sorry. But… well, I couldn’t help but hear that you got a perfect score on the thermodynamics test.”

“Yeah,” Fitz replies drily, shoving another spoonful of food into his mouth while shrugging. “So did you, if I’m not mistaken, which I’m not.”

“Yes,” Simmons admits, not even trying to sound humble (not that he’d tried himself). “And I have to agree with you. It was quite an easy exam.”

“Martin Robins got a 96.” Fitz can’t help but grin gleefully. “Got Question 5 wrong.”

“I know.” Simmons lets out a single laugh, before squinting, her expression more serious. “I mean, I realize it’s quite petty of me to exhibit such Schadenfreude, but he’s been such a terrible know-it-all and so disruptive in class. It was rather pleasing to know that he fell for what was clearly a trick question.”

Fitz scratches the skin below his ear, nodding in agreement. “Yeah. I can’t stand the bloke either. And his lab partner? Trina Hayland? I mean—” He shakes his head, unable to even come up with an adequate description.

Simmons smiles, taking a sip from her water before gesturing at Fitz with the bottle. “Well, your parents must be quite proud that you’re doing so well here at the Academy.”

“My mum, yeah.” Fitz shrugs, lowering his gaze to his food. “It’s… it’s just me and my mum,” he adds quietly.

“Oh.” Her tone is full of surprise, and even though Fitz had fully expected the momentary silence that follows, it nonetheless makes his stomach churn.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry or assume or—” Simmons pipes up, apologetically, her voice laced with nervousness.

Fitz looks up, waving her off. “Nah. It’s alright. My dad… he—” Fitz swallows, his eyes fixed on the young woman in front of him. “He left when I was ten.”

Her eyes widen, and a quiet “Oh” escapes her lips.

“Yeah, he… he—” Fitz stops himself, his heart beating up to his throat. He exhales, placing his half-empty plate onto the lab bench next to him. Anxiously, he looks down to where his thumb reflexively has begun pressing into the palm of his hand.

He lifts his head when he hears her quiet and calm voice. “Fitz. I… you… you don’t have to—”

A shy smile flashes across his face. “No, I know, I don’t have to but… but I want to.”

Fitz holds her gaze for a moment, taking confidence from the fact that she hasn’t looked away yet (or run away yet). He sighs deeply, before pushing out his chest slightly to straighten up, allowing his words to flow freely. “I don’t have a lot of friends and… well, I consider you one, best one maybe even and… it’s something I don’t talk about often, or ever, but… but maybe I should, because it… well, you haven’t seen it happen yet, but sometimes I… and my mum’s the only one who knows how to… and she’s not here, so I might need someone who—”

He stops himself and clears his throat, realizing that all he’s managed so far is confuse Simmons even further.

Fitz takes another deep breath, exhaling slowly through rounded lips, ignoring the way his eyes well up at the mere onset of memories. “My dad was abusive. Mainly verbally. Sometimes physically. It was worse when he’d been drinking. Which was… which was most days. He… he always told me I wasn’t good enough. That I was stupid. Weak. Womanly. Bloody moron. Mental capacity of a monkey.”

Fitz notices how Simmons is blinking away tears, how her lips seem to tremble as she tries to speak.

“A monkey?” she asks quietly, and Fitz can tell that she recalls the conversation they’d had hours ago.

One corner of his mouth ticks up into the hint of a smile. “Yeah. He’d actually make monkey sounds to mock me, then slap me over the head.” Fitz scoffs quietly, shaking his head in disbelief over his own life’s story, before looking back at Simmons.

“Real charmer that one,” Fitz tries to joke, but Simmons’ expression remains somber, her eyes clouded with sadness.

“My… my self-confidence was, well, non-existent as you can maybe imagine. But then, one day when I was seven, my mum took me to the Glasgow zoo… which… which actually closed down last year, but, well, she took me to the capuchin monkeys—which was one of the major exhibits—and we sat down on a bench and… and I knew she’d taken me there for a reason but I had no idea why, so I just sat next to her in silence, watching the monkeys and then she pulled out a book from her purse and put it on my lap. ‘My Life with the Chimpanzees’ by—”

“Jane Goodall,” Simmons mumbles quietly.

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face and he nods ever so slightly. “Yeah. It’s… it’s one of the eleven books on my shelf as you’ve probably noticed. The one that looks like it’s been read a thousand times.”

Fitz looks up. Part of him feels bad about Simmons’ tear-rimmed eyes, and the way her chin quivers, but somehow he also draws comfort from her empathic expression.

“She put the book in my lap and turned it around and pointed at the text on the back cover and said ‘Did you know how smart monkeys are?’”

Fitz can’t suppress a small grin, which grows a little wider when he hears a soft laugh from Simmons’ direction.

Fitz shrugs. “I just stared at the back cover, and read the same sentence over and over again: ‘ _She got to know an amazing group of wild chimpanzees—intelligent animals whose lives, in work and play and family relationships, bear a surprising resemblance to our own_.’ I read it, and read it, and looked at the capuchins and muttered ‘Monkeys are smart.’”

Fitz sniffs, his hand shooting up to wipe away some of the mist gathering in his eyes. “And my mum looked right at me, and said ‘Monkeys are smart, Leopold.’”

He pauses, trying to keep his voice from wavering. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “‘Monkeys are smart, and you are the smartest monkey of all.’”

Fitz’s lips pull into a pained smile. “‘You are my brilliant monkey, Leopold, and you can learn anything you put your clever mind to.’”

He looks up, staring at Simmons, whose fingers brush across her cheek to wipe away a tear. Fitz sighs, feeling relief wash over his body.

“And I did,” he adds, smiling proudly.

Simmons’ expression changes from sadness to radiant joy. “And that’s why you like monkeys.”

Fitz laughs quietly as his head bobs up and down. “Yeah. I mean, obviously now I know that the chimpanzees in the book were apes and not monkeys like the capuchins that I’d seen at the zoo and in any case primates cognitive abilities don’t compare with those of humans, but… but they _are_ incredibly smart, both chimps and capuchins, and of course it didn’t make everything magically better, but… but every time he’d call me stupid, every time he’d mock me, I told myself ‘Monkeys are smart.’ It made things easier at least. Gave him less power or something.”

Her brown eyes soften and her shoulders lose some of their tension. “Thank you, Fitz.”

“What for?”

Simmons shrugs, her gaze wandering to the floor briefly before looking back up. “I don’t have a lot of friends either and… and to think that you feel comfortable enough to tell me this very personal story. I… I feel quite honored and grateful. Even though I must admit that I’m not sure how to respond at this very moment.”

Fitz shakes his head, his lips twitching ever so slightly into the hint of a smile. “You don’t have to respond at all. Thanks for listening. Felt good.”

Simmons smiles widely, before her expression becomes more serious and she nervously clears her throat. “You… you mentioned that you wanted to tell me this story because you might need someone to… well, you never finished that thought.”

“Right.” Fitz sighs, noticing his palms becoming sweaty and the uneasy feeling in his stomach reappearing. He bites his lower lip, closing his eyes and exhaling sharply, before forcing himself to look back at Simmons. “I… I sometimes throw tantrums. I’m not proud of it and… and it doesn’t happen often and really only if something really upsets me and… and I’d never, never hurt another person, but… but I throw things, or swipe things off tables and… and it’s good to have someone there who can calm me down, and… and I think you could be that person.”

His gaze had wandered back to the ground as he’d been talking, and slowly Fitz lifts his head.

“I trust you,” he adds quietly.

Her face seems strangely emotionless, her eyes studying him. Fitz feels as if he can almost see the wheels turning in her head as she ponders what he’d just told her.

Then her lips pull into a friendly smile. “Well. Tell me what to do.”

Fitz sighs in relief, as he reciprocates her encouraging smile with a shy chuckle. “Well, my mum… she calls them monkey fits, always trying to make light of it, and I suppose it’s true, because monkeys do exhibit aggressive behavior of course, but, anyways… she usually just, she rubs my back, or puts her hand on my chest and somehow that gets through to me, just breaks the circle or something, calms me down.”

“Like that.” Hesitantly, Simmons reaches out her hand and when he doesn’t flinch away, she seems confident enough to place her flat palm over his heart.

Her eyes wander to her hand and Fitz knows she must be feeling his rapid heartbeat against her skin.

“Yeah,” Fitz replies quietly, relieved and anxious over the new-found trusting relationship.

Simmons looks up, smiling softly. “Well, that’s easy enough.”

Fitz scoffs. “Might not be as easy in the moment.”

“I realize that of course. I just… I wanted to convey that I’m quite prepared to help you, assist you. We’re partners after all, aren’t we?”

Fitz eyes wander to where she’s still pressing her hand against his chest, before looking back at her. “And friends.”

Simmons nods in agreement. “Best friends even.”

Fitz bobs his head, silently. “Thanks.”

Slowly, Simmons removes her palm, scrunching her nose, as if she were rather satisfied with their conversation so far. “You can call me Jemma by the way.”

“Oh.” Fitz’s mouth gapes slightly ajar, surprised by the sudden change in topic. “You… umm… you can call me Fitz.” He shrugs, smiling at her apologetically. “‘Cause, well, my first name is just one of the things my dad ruined for me. So if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Simmons shakes her head, wide-eyed. “Fitz and Simmons does have a nice ring to it.”

“I concur.” Fitz grins, nodding in agreement.

“What are you two doing in here?” The unexpected, booming voice makes them dart apart, and both their heads shoot around in surprise and shock towards the door.

Fitz brings up his arm to protect his eyes from the bright beam of the security guard’s flashlight.

“We’re working on an important lab assignment for our chemistry class,” Simmons remarks matter-of-factly, with no sign of fear in her tone. “We have special permission from Professor Weaver to be here after hours.”

The guard walks over and reads over the piece of paper that Simmon’s hands him, before giving it back to her, his eyes wandering skeptically between her and Fitz. “Alright. Just don’t get food over the expensive stuff.”

Simmons scoffs indignantly. “Well, of course not. We are professionals and well aware of the value of this equipment and—”

She stops when Fitz elbows her gently.

The guard turns to leave, but stops at the door, waving his finger between the two cadets. “And no dirty business is that clear? Do your kinky shit elsewhere!”

Simmons gasps loudly, and her eyes widen in anger. Fitz can tell that she’s about to start yelling. Intuitively, he reaches over to squeeze her arm, which luckily has the desired effect and stops her from doing something rash.

She clenches her jaw and waits until the guard has left before shooting around to glare furiously at Fitz, gesturing towards the door that the guard had disappeared through. “Well that was entirely uncalled for and inappropriate and I should file a complaint against such an imbecile insinuation and—”

Fitz raises his hands in front of his chest. “Yes, Simmons, I’m with you one hundred percent. The guy was a complete wanker, but I have a feeling one more snarky comeback from you and he would have revoked Weaver’s permission and kicked us out of here. Wanna risk that?”

Simmons’ wrinkles her forehead and she puffs out her chest. “Absolutely not. I’ll be damned if Martin Robins and Trina Hayland receive a higher score on this assignment!”

“Well, then—” Fitz gestures at the lab bench where their experiment is still set up. “—shall we?”

Simmons bobs her head in agreement. “We most certainly shall.”

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanons:
> 
> \- The first time Fitzsimmons ordered food to the lab at the Academy was Indian food and it was because it had gotten way too late (and it was in honor of an Indian scientist). And it was the first time they really talked about something other than science and they both agree that that was the day they truly became friends.
> 
> \- Fitz's mum has taken him to the zoo and is responsible for his love of monkeys (Now, I never thought more about the exact details of this headcanon until I wrote this fic, but I kinda like my fleshed out version).


End file.
